Forgive the deep parts within you cannot trust
Time spent but never earned because this is a bus with no stops
The fog in the rear is not slipping into the exhaust
It is purged
We are running, leaving it behind.
We cannot earn because we cannot bind
We are dust waiting to return
We are rust waiting for the sun
To burnish us, turn us to bronze that flickers and wreathes like gold
The gold is nowhere but in our souls
The bronze is all that shows
And for what? For us to lose the precious little, trailing away like black smoke that unfolds,
pouring out the maw of a backside, not worth a gather
Not worth the sole you exhaust
Not worth the bronze you won’t buff
The rust that needs to wait for the sunrise to feel lust
None other than heavy mist beyond the veil
The dust and the fog and the time-shares of clutter
How you can breathe through the same pipes where all that sputter and gunk choke the inhale.
Choke and roll over and sink down like the sun
Unable to purge through the rays the bronze run.
Unable to shine and burnish itself to a gold spun by society; to relive that choked one
You know the one
Let’s pick up the run.